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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28433118">turning saints into the sea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bromy/pseuds/bromy'>bromy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Cartographer Wilbur, Friends to Lovers, I’m mean sorry, JSchlatt’s name is Jacob, Jealousy, Journalist Jschlatt, Lovers to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Post-Break Up, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Travel, Unrequited Love, if theyre mutually toxic it’s totally fine right right, jk i promise they work their feelings out in the story I have imagined for this, jk there’s no happy ending in this but if i am encouraged to continue there will be, wilbur is kinda toxic but so is schlatt so it’s ok</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:14:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>639</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28433118</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bromy/pseuds/bromy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>yes the title is mr. brightside, no im not original.</p><p>wilbur gets dumped, but he’s already booked tickets to see his boyfriend for the Fourth of July months ago. for the sake of not wasting money, he’ll just have to stomach his still rather strong feelings for schlatt and try to carry on.</p><p>which wouldn’t be a problem if he hadn’t already moved on.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jschlatt/Wilbur Soot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>68</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>turning saints into the sea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>not going to be continuing this unless it gets some spectacular outburst of love! please don’t show it to ccs, blah blah blah you know the deal! </p><p>just a little self indulgent one shot :) sorry it’s short</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wilbur had always loved traveling, big or small. It didn’t matter if it was his first train ride, clinging to his mother’s coat tail with a certain nervous excitement as they rattled towards London, or a girlfriend (now long gone) resting easily against the white sand of the Mediterranean. He adored the chaos of airports, where he could collect bits of conversations coming from all over the world at the same time he collected overpriced souvenirs. Fuck, he’d even grown fond of jet lag- the euphoria of scattered naps, waking up in a comfortable bed at two in the afternoon to a teasing smile, the brush of a moustache against his forehead, that insufferable New York accent chiming <em>finally, you’re awake</em>. </p><p>Memories that warmed him now felt hollow- the future he was going to make with Schlatt was abandoned, fantasies of dogs, kids, feet intertwined lazily across Thanksgiving tables, scattered rice and snuck kisses had all faded from gold to a dull, empty grey. It wasn’t anything new to Wilbur. The American wasn’t the first one he’d convinced himself was <em>the </em>one, nor was he the first one to finally get fed up with the Brit’s bullshit, move on to find someone more stable. But it had <em>hurt</em> so much less last time, when he was just a kid and had a whole life ahead of him, when marriage had felt eons down the line, when he <em>couldn’t</em> settle down. It killed him that he’d already been carefully sculpting a life with his soon-to-be-groom, pinning down suits he liked and plotting the soonest date he could make the leap and <em>move</em>.</p><p>Traveling was no fun alone, when you couldn’t ramble about the site you were at to your loved ones and listen to them ramble back (about their own niche, of course- not everyone was a Geography major) in turn. He remembered distantly cold December nights in New York, Jacob cradling his gloved hand as he told him soft, bitten stories of high school, of nights he’d spend chasing his friends through the park, times he went too far, how he almost got caught by a cop pissing on that tree. <em>That </em>was what made Wilbur enjoy traveling so much- not seeing the geography, <em>hearing</em> it, learning  every last detail of the stories that made the landscape so special in the first place. He’d never loved studying the globe for the maps, nor the flags. It was <em>people</em> that fascinated him.</p><p>His luggage finally idled to the front of the baggage claim. He closed his fingers around the handle of his suitcase, slung his guitar over his shoulder, and began a brisk walk towards the parking garage. Wilbur’s pace was typically fueled by anticipation, a sickly sweet excitement to be in his lover’s arms again, but his haste presently was fueled by a fucked up desire to get this over with. Maybe if things crashed and burned fast enough, he’d have an excuse to book the next flight back. Maybe Schlatt would chew him out on the car ride home. Maybe he could be home by the time the sun was setting over New York.</p><p>Wil searched for his face amongst the bustling crowds, certainly mostly drawn in by the holiday. He’d been in LaGuardia a million times, so why did it feel so… unfamiliar? Each step he took was jarring. <em>I don’t belong here</em>, he thought, trying to ignore the way the tourists seemed to be boxing him in. <em>Fuck, it’s so obvious I don’t know what I’m doing.</em> Someone brushed against his shoulder, and he nearly jumped. <em>I wonder if he brought his new girlfriend with him.</em> Wilbur tightened his grip around the handle, his eyes screwing shut before he could get himself too overstimulated.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>God, what he’d give to be safe against J’s chest right now.</p>
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